by The Rival
Mrs. Riley returned from shooing the staff toward the kitchens and the guest rooms. “I will send up tea and cakes, my ladies, and by the time you get to your rooms, they shall be warm and merry, as we have fires even now being stoked and lit.” She smiled brightly at them. “What time would supper please you, Lady Ashburn?”
Olivia hesitated, shaking off the quiet sadness that seemed to wrap itself around her like a threadbare yet serviceable shawl. “Mrs. Riley, we wish to be no bother. What if you send us up a light meal in our rooms? Perhaps at eight o’clock?”
“If that is what you wish, my lady. Now, let me show you upstairs. The guest rooms are in this part of the house. I hope you do not mind.” They followed the apparently cheerful housekeeper through the hall and up steep, winding stairs. “This is the original part of the house, you know, begun and completed during the reign of Henry the Eighth. I could never understand why His Lordship and Her Ladyship keep the guest rooms here and not in the newer wings. Of course, it has been renovated four times since it was first constructed, as you can see.” She barely took a breath. “They rarely entertain in the country anymore. It has been years, in fact, since they did so. Both of them are very fond of town. It’s quiet here, you know, most of the time. They only visit once a year, and only because the earl loves to shoot.”
They had reached the third landing and started up a narrow corridor. Several portraits of various Stanhopes hung on the walls. Their costumes were Elizabethan, vast ruffled collars framing the faces of the lords and the ladies. “I can imagine that Lady Stanhope prefers town,” Olivia said politely. Of course, she did not know the countess at all. But she had seen her upon one or two occasions in the past and, of course, the other night at the Laytons’. She was an elegant, beautiful woman, and Olivia did not think her the kind to enjoy the country. She did not want to remember that evening at the Laytons’ now, but it was impossible to forget.
“This used to be such a cheery place,” Mrs. Riley said, thrusting open a pair of doors. “Your room, my lady, and your daughter’s. Miss Childs, your room is across the hall.”
Olivia entered a dark room with linenfold paneling. It was filled with shadows. The bed was the same dark oak as the floor and walls, and the hearth, where a fire danced, was stone. Had it been a bright, sunny day, the room might not have been so somber. Olivia smiled at Mrs. Riley. “What a lovely room.” The draperies, she remarked, had been opened.
“When the sun comes out, you can see just how fine the woodwork is,” Mrs. Riley said. “If you need anything, Lady Ashburn, ring the bell and ask any maid.” She smiled and turned, about to leave.
“Mrs. Riley,” Olivia said, detaining her, “how long have you been with the family?”
The housekeeper’s regard was steady. “Twenty-five years, my lady, and in spite of everything, I cannot say I’ve ever regretted my service to the Stanhopes.”
Twenty-five years, Olivia thought. Garrick De Vere was just about that age. She said, “You must have known Lord Caedmon since he was a boy—since he was an infant, I imagine.”
She smiled. “Actually, he was born right here in the Hall, and I was with the countess at the time of the delivery.”
Olivia hesitated. “Did he not have an older brother?”
Mrs. Riley’s smile vanished. “Indeed he did. It was quite the tragedy. Young Lionel De Vere, who was the viscount of Caedmon Crag until his death, as you must know, was about a year and a half old when his brother was born. I knew him every bit as well as I did Garrick. He was such a nice, good boy. He disappeared when he was fourteen years old. To this day, no one knows what happened.” She blinked rapidly now behind the lenses of her spectacles.
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to pry, or to distress you,” Olivia said, touching the woman’s wrist. “I did recently meet Lord Caedmon at his engagement party, and I suppose my curiosity got the better of me.”
“No harm done,” Mrs Riley said with cheerfulness. “And it is a blessing that His Lordship has finally come home after all these years. Now, if you will excuse me?”
Smiling, Mrs. Riley left Olivia alone with her daughter and Miss Childs.
“What is wrong, Mama?” Hannah asked quietly. “Why did you ask so many questions?”
“Mere curiosity, my dear, as I said.” Olivia was not about to tell Hannah the truth, even though she disliked dissembling to her daughter. “Come, dear, let’s see your room. Or would you rather sleep with me tonight?”
Hannah beamed. “You know I would.”
“Very well,” Olivia said, thinking she was probably comforting herself and not her daughter.
As Hannah moved carefully around the room, using a walking stick to explore its furnishings and proportions, Olivia walked to the window, pulled aside the old, dark gold velvet draperies, and found herself staring out over a vast amount of rolling Surrey countryside. Just past the barbican she could see the valley they had so recently driven through, with its tiny village and surrounding fields. She wondered if the death of Garrick’s brother had discouraged the Stanhopes from returning to the country. Of course it had.
Suddenly Hannah squealed.
Olivia turned quickly, but not with alarm, for the sound had been filled with delight. And she froze.
Hannah knelt on the floor, hugging the Irish setter. The red dog’s tail was wagging rapidly. Treve licked Hannah’s face.
Olivia forgot to breathe. Her mind remained stunned.
“Mama! Look! Lord Caedmon’s dog is here!” Hannah cried, glancing up briefly before burying her face again in the dog’s silky hair.
Olivia lifted her gaze to the doorway.
De Vere smiled at her as he leaned casually against the jamb. He dominated the threshold with his imposing presence, striking countenance, and big body. “Lady Ashburn,” he drawled. There was a glint in his eye.
Olivia had felt all of the blood draining from her face; now it returned in a rush. Oh, dear God, was all she could think. He was here. “You …” Words escaped her.
He lifted a brow questioningly.
Olivia fought for calm and could not find it. She was trembling. “You must have left town this morning,” she cried, an accusation.
He did smile. “Actually, I left shortly after noon.”
She stared. “That is when we left.”
His smile broadened. “I know.” And he sauntered directly into her bedroom, pausing beside her daughter and his dog. “Hello, Hannah,” he said.
CHAPTER TEN
Olivia was trembling, watching as Hannah straightened and beamed. Her temples throbbed, but her mind was beginning to function again. Clearly he had followed her from London. She was certain of it—his appearance at the Hall was no coincidence. Yet she could not accuse Garrick De Vere of pursuing them all the way to Surrey in front of her daughter. And the utter irony of her having chosen to spend the night at Stanhope Hall did not escape her.
“This is wonderful, my lord,” Hannah said, stroking the setter, who was as happy to see her, his entire red-furred body wriggling with joy. “We did not expect you to be here.”
“I hardly expected it myself,” De Vere said dryly. Thunder rumbled outside, in the distance, and he glanced at the window. The light mist had become a steady downpour. “Will you and your mother do me the honor of dining with me?” he asked casually, turning toward Olivia.
But Olivia was not smiling, nor was she feeling very casual. “We are exhausted from the trip, impromptu as it was,” she said tersely. She imagined that her eyes flashed. What was he doing? And how could Arlen not learn of this? “My husband only notified me—and quite unexpectedly—that I must return home early this morning. You can imagine how hasty our departure was. It was a great trial.”
His gaze was steady upon her. “Yes. I imagine that it was a trial—to have to leave in such haste.”
She was angry, and she was frightened. “I am afraid we must dine in our rooms tonight,” Olivia said coolly. “We intend to leave at first light.”
&nbs
p; Hannah made a sound of protest, which they both ignored.
He was staring. “And there is no means by which I might persuade you to change your mind?”
“Do you refer to the evening meal, my lord, or to our intended departure?” Olivia asked in a sugary tone of voice.
“I refer to both,” he said as silkily. “My hospitality can be limitless.”
She folded her arms, breathless, dismayed, the blood racing in her veins, or so it seemed. How could she survive the night at Stanhope Hall now—with him there, under the same roof, with intentions that were neither innocent nor honorable? If Arlen should ever learn of this, why, God only knew what he would do. Olivia glanced out the windows. Night would soon fall, but the sky was already dusky and near impenetrable, rain pounding on the windowpanes. It would soon be a cold, bleak, completely inhospitable night.
“Even should you attempt it,” he said softly, “I would not allow it.”
She whirled. “Allow what, my lord?”
“I would not allow you to depart in this inclement weather,” he said flatly. He reached out and touched Hannah’s hair. “I hope to see the two of you downstairs at eight,” he said, smiling slightly—a smile that was also in his tone. “In any case, if your mother allows it, you may keep Treve with you tonight.”
Hannah had been smiling back at him, and now she gasped. “Surely you do not mean—for the entire night?” she cried hopefully.
“I do.” He did glance at Olivia with those golden, persistent, too knowing eyes.
Olivia’s arms remained crossed beneath her breasts. “I do not object.”
His brows lifted. “I thought you wished to battle with me over every possible subject.”
She pursed her mouth, refusing to reply.
He laughed and walked out of the room, then paused. “Eight o’clock, Lady Ashburn.” Leaving the door ajar, he strode down the hall.
Olivia ran to it and slammed it shut. She was panting. Impossible man! She had no intention of dining with him, none. And what would happen later—after Hannah was asleep? The real problem, she realized, was that she did not trust herself.
“Mama.” Hannah came over to her, her expression worried, the setter remaining faithfully at her side. “I thought you liked him. Why are you so angry? And afraid?” Olivia inhaled. Having a gifted daughter was no easy task. And dear God, she was afraid Hannah was right. Afraid of Arlen, and even more afraid of what would happen in the wee hours of the night. She closed her eyes, already envisioning herself in Garrick De Vere’s embrace.
But would that be so terribly wrong? The thought crept unbidden into her mind. Very shaken, Olivia refused to entertain it.
She put her arm around Hannah. “Darling, there are some things I cannot share with you, and my feelings right now are very personal. If I could explain them, I would.”
Had Hannah possessed the ability to see, she would have stared. “But you are scared, Mama, and it worries me.”
“There is nothing for you to be afraid of,” Olivia said as lightly as possible. It was a terrible falsehood. Even if she resisted De Vere and her own desire for him, there was Arlen to worry about. Arlen, and the entire future—as it involved everyone.
“He is a good man. You do not have to be afraid of him. He is only sad, Mama. He loved his brother very much.”
Olivia sat on a tufted ottoman, pulling her daughter closer. “Is this what you felt from my conversation with Mrs. Riley?”
She shrugged. “No. I just know. The way I know other things.”
Olivia nodded. She hesitated, knowing that she herself was far too distraught to feel Lionel’s presence should he be lurking about, on the verge of asking her daughter what she herself felt. But foresight was a gift, one not to be used lightly. She remained silent.
“What is it, Mama?” Hannah asked.
Olivia shook her head. “Nothing, dear. I am very tired from this trip. Why don’t we wash a bit and freshen up before our supper? Afterward I will read to you in bed.” She hugged her. “It will be a very cozy evening, just the two of us in this old palace, with the wind and rain outside.”
Hannah frowned. “We cannot join His Lordship for supper?”
“Absolutely not,” Olivia said far too harshly.
Hannah was resigned. Then, “Mama, I don’t mind sleeping in my own room, now that Treve is here.” She grinned. “He can sleep with me in the bed.”
“No!” Olivia cried.
Hannah started.
Olivia regrouped, her pulse racing. “Treve can sleep on the floor, where dogs belong, and you will sleep with me.” She forced a smile. “As we have already planned, my dear.” Hannah would be her coat of armor, denying Garrick De Vere the success of his ill-laid plans.
They were not joining him, as he should have known, damn that stubborn woman.
Garrick had no intention of dining alone in the huge, illlit dining hall, with only the various ghosts of his ancestors for company and shadows dancing on the walls. He rose abruptly from the table, facing an anxious Mrs. Riley. “I have lost my appetite,” he said sourly, lifting a bottle of wine and a glass from the table.
“My lord, may I send a tray to your rooms?” the thin housekeeper asked.
But he was already stalking down the dimly lit corridor, careless of Mrs. Riley’s question, hardly even hearing it. Why did she have to resist him—and their attraction for one another? They could have passed an extremely enjoyable evening—a prelude to an even far more enjoyable encounter later, after Hannah was asleep.
Garrick thumped up the stairs. His rooms were in the west wing, while Olivia and her daughter and the governess were in the central section of the house. This was absurd. Why did he want her so damnably much? He told himself that he should avail himself of another woman, but instinctively knew that would change nothing. And why did she keep looking at him as if she could see through the walls he’d spent a lifetime erecting?
He reached his suite and marched inside, directly to the windows. It still rained. He had forgotten how wet and dreary and cold his native land was. God, the truth was, he had not missed this country at all. But now, oddly, his eagerness to return to Barbados seemed to have somehow dimmed.
It crossed his mind that, considering the long-standing rivalry he had with Ashburn, it was probably for the best that Olivia held to her morals. He would not put it past Grey to sever his head from his body in a duel if he ever learned Garrick had cuckolded him with his wife.
Disturbed, Garrick drained half a glass of wine and refilled it. He refused to dwell upon Olivia, but as a result, his thoughts veered to Lionel, which hardly helped his mood. There were so many memories here, far more so than in town. Damn it. Would a day ever go by where he did not feel the ache of loss, the bitterness of guilt?
Lionel, Olivia. His thoughts swung wildly from one to the other, back and forth, like a pendulum clock. He had a sudden premonition. Lionel had haunted him for the past fourteen years, ever since his death. What if Olivia now haunted him in the very same fashion? Consuming his thoughts against his will, day in and day out?
The idea was terrifying. Garrick cursed, grabbed a heavy wool mantle, and left his rooms. A few minutes later he was walking head down in the starless night, a man alone, drenched by the incessant rain.
It had taken Olivia a long time to fall asleep. She was exhausted, but she could not stop thinking about De Vere, and as she lay there seeking sleep but failing to find it, she debated the many possibilities that lay in store for them both. When, finally, she did turn over and reach for her daughter, just before sleep claimed her, her last thought was that she was on a path, one she had no choice but to take.
Olivia awoke.
She awoke instantly from a deep, dreamless slumber, knowing that something was terribly wrong. Dread, and fear, filled her heart with sickening intensity.
Then she glanced over at the other side of the bed, for Hannah. Candles remained lit, casting some flickering light over the room. And Olivia shot upright, c
rying out. Hannah was gone.
Her heart had positively stopped. Now she looked around wildly, holding one taper aloft, but the room was empty, the door wide open. The dog was gone as well.
Her heart renewed its beat with pounding force. She touched Hannah’s pillow, then the bottom sheet where her body had lain. The pillow and sheet were cool.
Olivia leapt from the bed, dry mouthed, almost insane with fear. Was Hannah sleepwalking? The hall was vast. How would she find her? What if Hannah hurt herself or, worse, wandered outside in this weather?
Olivia rushed from the bedroom, running across the hall to Lucy Childs’s room. As she rapped upon the door, she prayed that she would find Hannah inside. A moment later the bleary-eyed blonde opened the door, and Olivia told her what had happened. The sleepiness vanished from Miss Childs’s eyes. “I will help you search,” she said quickly.
“Hannah must be sleepwalking,” Olivia said intensely. “There is no other explanation. And when she awakens, she will be lost and alone and frightened.” Her voice was high.
Lucy touched her hand. “She has the dog with her.”
Garrick. “I am going to awaken Lord Caedmon,” Olivia cried, turning and racing down the dark hall. None of the wall sconces remained lit. It was eerie. But there was no time to dwell on that now.
Lucy followed her. “I will wake Mrs. Riley.”
Olivia barely heard. Could not De Vere somehow summon the dog—who in turn would lead them to Hannah? She pounded down the stairs, outdistancing Lucy. She recalled that the family rooms were in the west wing. Within moments she was hurrying up those stairs in her bare feet. She imagined that the family’s rooms were on the second story, as was usually the case.
Olivia banged on the first closed door. “My lord! Lord Caedmon!” she cried. There was no response. “Garrick!” She pounded again and pulled open the door. A dark, cold room, filled with wavering shadows, greeted her, clearly not in use.